Never Forgotten: Scenes from the Scanran War
by Aurorax
Summary: New Update- Scene 19 is the second half of the interview where Kel gets assigned to the refugees, told from Wyldon's perspective. A platonic examination of the Kel/Wyldon relationship and Wyldon's thoughts on the coming war.
1. Chill

**Hi everyone. This is my first attempt at fanfiction; I am hoping to do a series of fifty or so scenes from multiple viewpoints, taking place throughout the course of the Scanran War, mostly in the timeline of Lady Knight. I haven't had a chance to read much of the content of this site, so I would love any input or suggestions that you would be willing to give, especially as to how this may be improved. Let me know if this is an overdone or clichéd topic; I'd rather not spend the time writing all of these just to find out it's been done a hundred times before.**

**Thanks for your interest, happy reading.**

**Aurorax

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1. Chill**

His breath swirled heavy in the chill dawn air, adding another layer of fog to the delicate frost adorning the window. It distorted the view, allowing the mass of soldiers, knights, and horses milling about the Great Road North to fade into a tapestry of color and light. For a moment, just a moment, he allowed himself to continue gazing down on the meaningless blur of shapes.

It was so much easier this way, the individual flowing and fading into the larger whole. In that fleeting instant, King Jonathan saw an army, strong and proud on the field below, and for the first time in weeks he was at peace. This was his kingdom, everything he had worked for, the glory of the past and the hope of the future.

He closed his eyes with a sigh, breaking the spell. To be able to look at them, the men and women whom he had ordered into the unknown- he owed them that at least. Forcing himself to focus, he picked out individuals from among the crowd.

There was Alanna, helm in hand as the first rays of sun valiantly broke through the clouds to set her hair alight in flame; there was Raoul, visible above the heads of his men, effortlessly commanding the attention of the group; there was his eldest son, a conflict between seizing the freedom to fight alongside his people and his duty to the country and the fiancé he was leaving raging beneath his steady gaze.

Upon Raoul's signal, the soldiers began to move as one body, their sights set towards the north, towards war. They would not all return; that much was clear. It was not the first time that Jon had sent men to their deaths, nor would it be the last. It was a responsibility that he had accepted with his crown.

Soon the first reports would come, his commanders detailing in steady hands the number of arrow wounds, lost limbs, casualties, and enemy troops, finding shelter in the certainty of numbers and facts. Maybe it kept the faces of the dead men from their dreams; he wasn't sure.

And so Jon remained at the window, vowing instead to remember, to see the life behind each name on a list. Someone had to. They could not be forgotten.

As the creaking of leather and hollow clap of hooves on the frozen expanse of ground faded into a mere echo on the wind, the King kept his eyes stubbornly focused straight ahead, watching his army move determinedly towards their destiny one step at a time. He had meant to watch them until they had disappeared completely beyond the bluffs, but a sudden flash of sun obscured his vision.

Everywhere rays of light exploded into prismatic rainbows of color, dancing across the images before him until he felt as if he no longer looked upon the Mortal Realms. There was a beauty to the scene, but it was a cold beauty, the beams doing nothing to remove the chill from the air. It seemed to have seeped into his very bones, this frigid March dawn, and he felt himself shudder involuntarily.

Turning away at last, Jon draped a heavy cloak over his shoulders before setting off in search of his advisors and a mug of something warm.

Over the palace, the Stormwings circled, their hundreds of eyes fixed northward. The war had begun.


	2. Kraken

**So here is Theme 2; I am trying to keep them as chronological as possible, following the timeframe of Lady Knight, though I may have to go back and add some at the end to reach 50. Again, I'm new at this so I'd love to hear your feedback, particularly if you think these are getting out of character. Also, I'm willing to update quite frequently, but if anyone has an opinion as to whether they would prefer each scene to be longer with more time between updates or shorter but posted more often, feel free to share.**

**Abyssgirl, thanks for taking the time to review, I really appreciate it. I was going for an "unseen footage" effect; hopefully this next update will continue to clarify that goal. One of my favorite parts of the Trickster's series was reading the "letters from home" and realizing that just because all of the action is focused on one character doesn't mean that the others are just sitting around twiddling their thumbs until she comes to interact with them. I knew that these next few characters would certainly be up to something interesting, even if there wasn't enough room to detail it in Lady Knight; I think it's about time that they got to share their side of the story. Enjoy!**

**And sorry, I forgot this last time, and I know that it's quite important: Remember that the locations, characters, and events occurring in these scenes are the property of Tamora Pierce, as much as I wish I could claim them as my own.**

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**2. Kraken**

Raoul lowered his gloved hand, listening as the sound of hooves suddenly fell away behind him. It was quickly replaced by the sighs and curses of the men as they wearily dismounted and promptly sank to their knees in the thick mud. The group around him dispersed quickly, the promise of dry clothes and a warm meal driving the soldiers to trudge through the churned mess of slush and muck to the nearest wayhouse.

It was only their third day on the road, and already spirits were dragging. Life seemed to have lost all purpose, running on an endless loop of riding and eating and sleeping and waking to ride once more. And the damn weather wasn't helping things; even he was not impractical enough to pray for sun, but a morning cold enough to freeze the soggy ground would have been a welcome blessing.

He shook his head, laughing at his foolishness. As much as he tried to deny it to Buri, he was an idealist, not afraid to try to change something just because others said it was impossible. But he wasn't stupid either, and he knew that there were some things that you just had to accept. The weather was certainly one of them.

Dismounting with a squelch, he grabbed Drum's reins and started towards shelter. He hadn't gotten very far when a loud voice made him turn instinctively. He knew that voice, and he knew that tone. Alanna was on the warpath, and while it was probably best to duck and cover, he had changed course to meet her without a second thought.

If the last few days had been wearing on his good humor, he could only imagine that Alanna's short temper was at the breaking point. Come to think of it, he was actually impressed she had held out this long, even with her friends obeying Jon's strict orders to ride between her and the conservative knights at all times.

Upon reaching his friend, he found her deep in a philosophical dispute with a Stormwing who was hovering, amused, just out of the range of her bow. The Stormwing swooped down quickly, her sing-song voice grating on the ears as she mocked Alanna for fearing the mud.

He then realized why his friend was still on her horse, and not hurrying towards her bath like the others. Raoul didn't blame her- with legs that short, the mud was likely to reach almost to her waist, an unpleasant enough sensation to merit consideration even from one as brave as the King's Champion.

From the look on her face, she was ready to throw herself defiantly into the mess. Alanna had always been so stubborn; it was one of the things that had first caught his attention when they were pages and that he still loved about her a few decades later. Catching Darkmoon's reins, he swept his fiery companion up into his arms and set off for the wayhouse once more.

He'd be hearing about this later, but since he was an old friend, he doubted that Alanna would actually kill him. Hopefully. She stubbornly continued with her protests until he shifted his hand to cover her mouth, effectively muffling her complaints, as the Stormwing flew off overhead raining curses on them for ruining the fun.

They walked in silence for a few minutes, watching two young knights ahead of them in the distance. One tripped, earning himself a faceful of mud, and the soft, restrained laughter of his companion floated back to them on the wind. Raoul would have recognized that laugh even if he hadn't been able to pick out the roan gelding she led from a mile off, and the muddy young man who emerged spluttering and waving his arms about could only be Alanna's ex-squire.

A tickling at his chest indicated that Alanna was trying to say something; thinking it was a renewal of her earlier protests, Raoul held her away from his body, threatening to drop her in a stagnant puddle of muck. As he looked into her eyes with a laugh, however, he was puzzled by the expression there. She looked…older, contemplative, more thoughtful than he had seen her in a long while.

He knew that they had both changed over the years; they had seen enough to last a lifetime and no one, not even the sharp-tongued, headstrong, impulsive woman in his arms could make it through unscathed. Still, it was rare to see her this troubled, and he wondered what was on her mind.

There was no use asking; if she wanted to tell him, she would, on her own time. He appreciated that; it was one of the reasons that they had stayed close over the years, even as other old friends had begun to drift away. Gary, with his papers and plans and ideas; Jon, trying to walk the delicate balance between doing what he knew was right and what would gain the popular support; sometimes he just couldn't understand them like he had when they were pages and squires together.

But he and Alanna were both warriors; they had been through it all and came out understanding one another in ways that the others could never share.

"I'd forgotten how attached you get." The words were no longer muffled in his chest, and he realized she had turned her head to gaze ahead as he had been. He wasn't sure what she was referring to until she added, "They seem so young. When did we get so old?"

It had been so long since either of them had taken a squire. Alanna, in fact, never had before. Now, watching Kel ride off to war, he wasn't sure how to feel. She was ready, he couldn't deny that; she had proved time and again over the last four years that she could take care of herself, and even now she still managed to surprise him. It was for himself that he was worried.

When he had first considered Kel as his squire, he had been caught up in the logistics of making everything work, how to keep a young girl safe among a hundred men, the best way to protect her reputation and his own, what gear she would need for the hard road ahead. There had never been time to consider the impact she might have on his life. Looking back, he felt as if he had gained a daughter over the last few years; nothing made him more proud then seeing the confident, independent woman she had become, and he was glad to have had the chance to play a part, however small, in helping her grow to fulfill her promise.

Now that the time had come to let her go, it was much harder than he had expected, but he wouldn't hold her back for anything. She had a lot to prove to the world, and Raoul couldn't wait to watch her do it. And as much as she complained about her insubordinate, insufferable squire, he knew Alanna felt the same way towards Neal. Somewhere among the sarcasm and flarng tempers, they had found the same bond.

Alanna was right, he had never felt as old as he did at that moment, as their ex-squires slowly faded from view. They might never be that carefree again; there was no denying that the war would change them. There was so much that needed to be said, and so few words to express it.

"We survived. So will they. They're strong, and they have each other, like we did. They'll make it." Not nearly enough, and he knew it. Looking at the violet eyes before him, he knew that he had done so much more than just survive over the years- he had killed and healed and loved and lost, fought men and immortals, served in wars and prayed for peace.

But through it all she had been there, to remind him what he was fighting for, to rescue him when he tried to drink away the pain and keep him sane when everything around him seemed to have dissolved into madness. And he would do the same for her. Their friendship was what had kept him fighting all these years. As he set her on her feet at the threshold of the inn, he caught her small nod of agreement and knew she understood what he meant. It hadn't been enough, but it was all that needed to be said.

Together the old friends walked inside, trying to hide the sadness in their eyes as they passed the table of first-year knights. Today, they laughed and called out to one another, glad to be off the road for the night and savoring their warm meals. Today, they were innocent. They had seen battles, seen men die- certainly Kel had experienced her fair share of fighting with the Own- but they had never been to war.

Tomorrow, the next day, in a month if they were lucky, that innocence would be taken from them. It was the way of the world, as fixed and unchangeable as the weather. No matter how much they would have liked to protect the next generation from seeing the horrors they had seen, Alanna and Raoul knew it was impossible.

So they simply prayed that the kids would survive. As he watched Neal slide into the seat next to Kel, draping his arm around her shoulder, he knew that they would make it. The war would be hard, but like him, the two young knights would never be truly alone. And that was all you could ask for.

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**That's all for now- check back very soon for the next set, which will likely feature the events surrounding Kel acquiring Tobe, particularly a chat between Tobe and Neal. Then maybe Neal, Merric, and Roald's assignment meetings with Wyldon, as well as Kel's interview from Wyldon's perspective and Fanche's assessment of her new commander. I think the next few will be a bit shorter. Have a thought, comment, idea, correction, flame, etc.? Hit that review button and let me know.**


	3. Addiction

**Thanks for the lovely reviews, they definitely encouraged me to get this nice long update posted quickly. If you have an idea for a scene, especially with a lesser-featured character that you wish more people wrote about, let me know and I'll see what I can do. Sometimes, the flag idea is great, watch out for it in one of the next few updates- I'm not sure how long it's going to take me to get there in the timeline. Also, I don't have a beta reader at present so feel free to point out any grammatical or spelling issues, however nitpicky; I hate having errors in my work but grammar is the bane of my existence. Thank you, enjoy, and watch out soon for the next update- these are so fun to write I think I'm obsessed.**

**Disclaimer: Remember that the locations, characters, and events occurring in these scenes are the property of Tamora Pierce, as much as I wish I could claim them as my own.

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**3. Addiction**

The soapy plate slipped out of his small hand, falling to the floor with a clatter loud enough to wake the gods and breaking into a million tiny shards. He ducked instinctively, knowing what was coming, but only succeeded in making the hard slap connect with the back of his head rather than its intended target between his shoulders. The room swam before his eyes from the force of the blow, almost making him drop another plate.

He recovered quickly and tried to focus all his attention on the task at hand. The Jug and Fire was busy as he had ever seen it, full of knights heading northward towards the war. Tobe had hoped that the roaring trade would ease the innkeeper's sour temper, but the stress of providing for so many seemed to quicken it all the more.

Feeling the man's fierce gaze on his back, Tobe continued to wash the endless stack of plates before him. It was hopeless to begin with, and as dishes were being added faster than he could clean them, he worked for hours only to watch the pile continue to grow.

Eventually his attention began to drift again, despite his best efforts. So many horses…he had never seen the stables so full. And these were different from any he had ever heard before, smart and confident and loyal.

Queensgrace had never attracted many knights in the past; this was the first time that Tobe had ever seen a true warhorse. Now the stalls were full of them, and he couldn't think of anything else. He had to see them; he might never have such an opportunity again. He didn't know what it was about the powerful mounts that drew him in, but he couldn't even begin to contemplate how much they would be able to teach him.

Most of what Tobe knew of the world had been taught to him by the town's horses, but he had reached the end of their stores of knowledge and was desperate for more. A chorus of voices seemed to dance in his head, and as he reached for another tankard it was no longer the kitchen that appeared before his eyes. Instead, he saw a palace surrounded by a bustling city, viewed from above as if halted upon a bluff. Tobe wondered if it was Corus. He had heard stories about the capitol from old Auld Eulama, and had once dreamed of going there. Not anymore- he was too old to dwell on empty fantasies, not when there was work to be done.

Still, he found himself focusing more and more attention of the feisty roan with whom he had shared the scene, impressed by the knowledge and independence he found. The gelding had a stubborn streak all right, and wouldn't share any more with the strange two-legger who was not his master, her squeaky friend, or any of the others he recognized until he had come to visit. Preferably with an apple.

Tobe didn't have to consider it long. There was little chance he would get much more done tonight, not with his head full of horses; it was truly an addiction, one he couldn't have done anything about, even had he wished to. If he was going to be beaten anyway, he might as well be beaten in the stables. There at least he might have a few minutes to meet the knight's mounts before Alvik found him.

Waiting until his master's back was turned, Tobe slipped off to his favorite haunt. Taking a seat in an empty stall, he basked in the warm scent of horseflesh and leather. It made him feel safe, like nothing could touch him. It also reminded him of home, though he knew that was silly- of course he couldn't remember home.

Even the heavy sound of Alvik's footsteps could not shake the sense of peace that came over him in the stables, and though he cried out as the leather strap cut through his thin shirt to ravage his flesh, he did not regret his choice. For a boy who had only known pain, this day was already considered one of the happiest in his short life. He had no idea what the world had in store for him.


	4. Strays

**4. Strays**

He couldn't help it; his heart skipped a beat as he saw the ragged dog marching purposely across the room towards him. Kel could have sent Jump to get him for any number of reasons, none of which necessarily involved mortal peril. Or angry immortals. Or duels to the death with conservatives, though that would be interesting to watch and he could use a little excitement after ten long days on the road. Or…but no, his imagination was getting away from him again, and they hadn't even reached the border yet.

If he got this worked up now, how was he going to be able to watch her ride out into the real fighting? He had no doubt that Kel would be in the middle of the battle if left to her own devices, fighting for everyone else with little regard for her own safety.

As much as Neal hated to admit it, he almost hoped that the Stump would continue to underestimate her as he always had and give her a safe assignment. She would hate it, he knew, but she would still accept her duty without complaint; it was one of the things that had always amazed him about her, her ability to take on the worst task without complaint, then complete it like it was what she had always dreamed of doing.

He knew he was being selfish, wanting to keep her out of the fighting when she was so desperate to prove herself. She was his best friend, the only reason he had made it through his training, the one who would help him make it through the war. He couldn't survive without her.

So even before he felt Jump's jaw close lightly on his leg, seeking his attention in the most expedient manner he could think of, Neal was already making his excuses and taking his leave. Sure, he would complain about having to leave the card game when he saw her; he had a reputation to maintain. But it was all talk. And Kel knew it of course; she could always see through his cynical façade.

He hurried after Jump without a second glance, wondering what stupid, selfless act had gotten his best friend into trouble this time around.

Whatever he was expecting, it wasn't a boy. He was used to Kel and her strays; a new kitten wouldn't have surprised him, or an injured bird. Even a baby hurrok wouldn't have been all that surprising; she had raised the griffin after all, and what an ungrateful little beast it had been.

But this was different- this was a human child. Kel clearly had no notion of how to raise a young boy, that much was clear from the fact that she was speaking calmly to him as he sat between Peachblossom's legs.

If there was one place in the world Neal would have not wanted to find himself, it would be where the boy was now sitting. Come to think of it, he wondered why the Chamber had not seized on that one; maybe it was not as all-powerful as everyone supposed.

And now Kel expected him to heal the boy- he was happy to do it, the kid looked like he needed it, but he refused to get any closer to the temperamental gelding. Neal didn't like the look in Peachblossom's eye; he looked rather like Kel when she fought to protect one of her friends or charges, the same look of determined concern mixed with protective wrath. It was clear he was outnumbered here.

Neal sighed in exasperation- it was just what she needed, another stray to look after. They were on the way to war, and he doubted that wherever she was assigned she would even have the time to look after herself. Sometimes he wished she could just let these things pass like everyone else.

No, that wasn't true; he knew it was only fear and exhaustion that made him think that way. This was pure, classic Kel, standing up for those who couldn't speak for themselves. It was one of the many things that made her extraordinary, and he wouldn't change it for all the world.

He would, however, like to get the boy away from Peachblossom. He was a good healer, but he wasn't a miracle worker, and crushed skulls required more concentration than he could summon at the present juncture.


	5. Player

**5. Player**

Before Neal knew what was happening, he found himself alone with the boy, Kel having rushed off to make all the necessary arrangements. He wouldn't have even known where to start, but she had bustled off with a purpose, like she went around adopting servants every day.

Eyeing the pitiful scrap of humanity before him, Neal could not say he was impressed. He had seen half-drowned puppies with more life in them. Yet the boy clearly had fight in him still.

Most of his patients as a squire had scorned the idea of being healed by a noble, but his exalted position had kept their protests to a minimum. They made it clear they didn't trust him, but for the most part suffered in silence as he went about his work. This boy had no compunction about making his opinions heard, which meant that he was supremely brave, supremely stupid, or simply had nothing to lose.

Eying the mottled array of half-healed bruises decorating his thin body through the tears in his clothes, Neal was inclined to think it was the last option. He probably knew he was going to get beaten regardless of whether he held his tongue or not; one had to smile at the pride that drove the boy to fight back in whatever small way he could find.

There was a spark there, something that hadn't been fully beaten out despite the innkeeper's best efforts.

He would never be able to reach the boy while he remained within Peach's sight, and Neal hadn't the slightest idea of how to tempt a ragged nine-year old to willingly submit to a healing. He didn't seem comfortable with anyone save horses.

After a few patient (for Neal) minutes spent trying to coax the boy out with logic, he was forced to turn to his backup plan and walked a few stalls down to where Mage Whisper was stabled. He caught sight of Tobe's bright blue eyes for the first time as the boy looked up in interest, but he feigned innocence and continued about his task without taking note of it.

After a few minutes of silence, Neal saw a small figure standing shielded from him by Whisper, currying his mount's opposite side. Neal waited another few seconds before approaching the boy slowly and offering to tell him the story of the griffin if he would allow himself to be checked out. It was like dealing with a spooked pony- no sudden movements.

Thinking of how quietly the boy had entered the stall- he hadn't even heard the door open- Neal realized the cost of the constant beatings. The boy before him was little more than a ghost, having learned long ago to trust no one and stay out of sight. Neal couldn't blame him for thinking the worst of human nature; he had never seen anything else.

Reaching out a hand to place on the boy's shoulder, Neal saw him flinch back instinctively. How was he supposed to heal someone who wouldn't even let him touch them?

The boy looked terrified, as if the only thing that was keeping him from bolting out the door was his indecision on where to run to. _Slow and deliberate_ Neal reminded himself as he renewed his efforts. _Let him see that you mean no harm_.

It was times like these that he regretted his lack of University training; surely his father would know how to best deal with a scared-witless patient.

Alanna had taught him so much during his squire years, but patience had never been her forte. She would have likely drawn her sword and threatened the boy into submission, but Neal could see that might not be the best approach in this instance. Besides, there were some things only the Lioness could get away with.

No, he would have to find his own way. Lucky he had always been creative.

Twenty minutes later Neal raised his hand from where it rested on the boy's forehead, his healing complete. He paused for a second in his animated story, earning a glare from his young charge, who clearly resented the interruption.

_Well, Father always said I should have been born a Player_. He was secretly glad that he had been able to talk the boy around, even if it had required him to recite most of the soppy love ballads he knew before the young boy had finally admitted a graceless defeat.

He had finished reciting the tale of the griffin while he worked, and had started a story about a young girl who went to war on hazing among the palace pages- he thought it particularly fitting given the present circumstances.

The boy was quiet for the most part, but what he did say was candid and cheeky, like when he accused Neal of making everything up or told him to stop flailing about so much, he was frightening the horses.

He had seen something in the boy's eyes before he quickly dropped his head, the same fierce determination that Kel wore when she set her mind to addressing a particularly grievous wrong, that Alanna had when she tackled a group of hill bandits, and that crossed his father's face as he prepared to help a woman through a particularly difficult labor.

_And the Stump thought I was bad. I'd love to watch him try to deal with this one. It's the least I could do to thank him for all the quality time he spent educating us young pages._

A clear voice asking if he was finally done broke through his thoughts; he heard the boy mutter something about nobles and their daydreams, it was no wonder that they never got anything done.

Neal liked the boy instantly.


	6. Duty

**6. Duty**

Tobe felt a light hand under his chin, gently forcing his gaze from the corner of the stall where it had remained throughout his healing and into a pair of blazing green eyes. Tobe flinched instinctively at the touch, but forced himself not to back away.

The man had been nothing but kind to him, even if he was a noble. Still Tobe found the green eyes unnerving; most everyone he had ever seen had blue eyes, and he wondered if it was the unusual color that made it feel as if this man's look pierced his very soul.

Tobe would have ducked his head again if not for the hand beneath his chin; no one had ever really taken the time to look at him before, and he wasn't sure he liked feeling so exposed.

"What's your name boy?" The voice was strong and quiet, reassuring.

Tobe had to clear his throat twice before he could answer. "Tobeis Boon my lord." It came out as a mere whisper. He needed some water, and he wanted to get out of the stables as quickly as possible. Everything had gone well so far, but he knew how quickly men's tempers could change. And it seemed to Tobe as if he had used up most of his luck for the day already and then some, when the Lady Knight had bought him from old Alverik.

"Sit." The healer called over his shoulder as he rummaged through his bag before finally emerging with a full waterskin.

Tobe remained standing, his eyes fixed on the ground once more. He had been raised to obey a noble's every command, but experience had shown him that it was safest to be on his feet and ready to run when the hitting started, and experience was the better teacher.

The healer threw up his arms in exasperated defeat, showering both of them with water from the open flask. After another exaggerated sigh, the dramatics abruptly ceased. Tobe waited, not knowing what the strange man would do next. He had never met anyone quite like this man before.

"I want you to do something for me." Tobe was not surprised. The nobles were always asking him for favors, making him bring them things like drink and girls. Or they would send him out with messages for their wives about broken wagon wheels and lame horses.

He glanced up warily, wondering what this one wanted. With the ground still not fully frozen, he was not looking forward to the muddy walk that awaited him, but he knew the danger of refusing a task. He had been blessed enough tonight.

"That girl"- the noble paused to consider for a second, his eyes scorching, before amending, "that woman out there, she's something special. She gets so caught up in taking care of the world that she often forgets to take care of herself. You saw how she took you in today, stood up for you? She'll do it again, a million times over, without a second thought. And she doesn't even recognize how unique that is, that everyone wouldn't have the courage or the sense or the kindness to act the same.

I'll do my best, but we're headed to war. Gods knows where any of us will end up. And if we find ourselves on opposite sides of one of King Maggot's little armies, I want to know that someone is looking after her. I don't have any reason to trust you Tobe, any more than you do me. But I do. So I'm going to ask more of you than I have ever asked of anyone in my life- will you watch out for Kel for me, if there should come a time when I cannot?"

Looking back, Tobe knew he had nodded quickly only out of sheer relief and the burning desire to escape before the man changed his mind or the woman left him behind. Neither ever mentioned the conversation again.

But Tobe never forgot it. And even if he hadn't understood what he was getting into at the time, he swore to keep that promise for as long as he lived. She was worth it.


	7. Unspoken

**7. Unspoken**

The prince sighed softly to himself, listening with half an ear to the chattering of the other young knights. He knew he shouldn't let his mind drift home, but without Kel and Neal here to distract him the draw was inevitable.

He missed his Shinko terribly; it seemed unfair that they had to be separated just as they were finally beginning to trust one another. He knew that they had a long road ahead of them to reach the kind of love his parents shared, and he was anxious to get started on the journey.

It had been hard enough to put off the wedding, after preparing for it for so long, but he knew his duty. He had been taught from the cradle to put his people before his own happiness, as had his Yamani intended, and that's what they had done. Riding to war though, that had little to do with his country and Roald knew it.

No one would have ordered the crown prince to the front lines; in fact, he knew many of his father's advisors who had suggested strongly that it would be safest for him to remain in Corus.

He remembered well the afternoon that his friends had been called away one by one to receive their orders. He had been the last to be called, and as he entered the room and bowed to his father he could tell instantly that this was a test. The council members were there, standing silently off to the sides, watching him with eyes that ranged from kind to judging, but all watching him.

Roald had forced himself to stand tall under the barrage of gazes, focusing on the single one that mattered to him. His father's strong, level voice, the tone of which Roald had always envied but could never achieve, rang out through the silent chamber, his speech formal as the occasion demanded.

"One day, my son, you will occupy my place on this throne. The fate of the realm and its inhabitants will depend upon the choices you make. Therefore I present you now with a choice- you may follow your fellow knights to war, or remain at the Palace to aid your mother and I and continue your lessons."

He wanted to stay, to watch over his brothers and sisters and go riding with his future wife. One knight would not make a difference in the course of the war, especially since it was unlikely they would allow him to do anything remotely dangerous. He would be lucky to be allowed outside the camp's walls without a full guard. But it wasn't his choice really, and what he wanted didn't matter.

"I will go to war Sire." It was a prince's choice, not his own. Yet his heart still leapt when he saw the approval in his father's eyes. He hated himself for seeking it.

Roald knew his parents were worried, that his shyness and reserve were mistaken for ignorance and timidity, that there was some concern among the conservatives about his being fit to take the throne.

A true king would follow his own heart; a true king would not have been afraid to do what he really felt. Roald knew he was so different than his parents; perhaps that was why he strived so hard to make them proud.

He had no doubt that if his father had been in his place, he would have followed his friends to war without a second thought. How many times had he heard the story about Alanna's rescue at the River Drell? Someday, he prayed, he would be able to step out of their shadow and find himself.

But not today, not this war. The army needed a prince, someone to show them the importance of what they were doing, to let them know that the whole country was fighting together and it was not just some noble's whim.

So he found himself riding north, not as a soldier but a symbol, each step taking him that little bit farther away from the heart he had left behind.

Rising from the table unnoticed by his companions, he began to make his way upstairs towards his room. Always the best room- if anyone had bothered to ask, he would have told them he preferred to sleep outside. He often found himself feeling trapped and claustrophobic indoors these days.

A voice rang out from the bottom of the stairs ahead- he recognized it instantly as Neal's, but he had never heard his friend sound that dangerous before. He spoke so low it was almost a growl.

Roald stood silently, waiting for the passage to clear; a small movement at the top of the stairs caught his eye, and he realized that Kel was listening as well. Neal was so caught up in his speech to the innkeeper that he noticed neither of them.

Watching his friend passionately defend his ideals, some of Roald's gloom lifted. When Neal had finished and stalked off without a backward glance at the terrified innkeeper, Roald waited for Kel to follow him. He was sure she would go after him, if only to thank him- she was the one, after all, who had taught them the importance of standing up to bullies in the first place. Instead, she turned quickly and headed back towards her room, a small smile on her face.

More memories rose to the surface; he knew what it was like to be so close to someone that you could understand one another without words. He was glad Kel and Neal had that; they deserved it. His thoughts drifted back to his childhood and the bond that he and Kally would always share, even if only through letters; he hoped that in time he and Shinko would find something similar.

Roald entered his room with a lightened heart. It was always hard to consider what you were forced to leave behind, but sometimes it was nice to be reminded of what you were fighting for.


	8. Bluff

**8. Bluff**

The healer was lying. He had to be. No one had that kind of magic- it was the stuff out of children's fairy stories and ancient legends. Like raising the dead or turning someone into a tree, it was clearly impossible.

It was bad enough that he had been overpowered by that uppity wench of a knight, but gods was she strong. Probably the green-eyed mage had witched her too, to help the conservatives prove a point. Or the Lionness, everyone said she had magic enough to control the minds of everyone in Corus, she had clearly been able to trick the king into appointing her his Champion.

And just like a lady too, messing with things that didn't concern her, interfering with his handling of his own servants. That was the kind of nonsense that started when men allowed women to fight with them; it wouldn't be long before the whole army went soft, and the Scanrans sent them running back with their tails between their legs.

So long as business was booming, it was no skin off his teeth whose hand held the crown, and he was willing to bet that the Scanrans appreciated a good drink just as much as those from Tortall did. He had heard the queen was beautiful and the king just and fair, but they had never done anything to help him and he felt no obligation to their rule.

They were another pair of entitled nobles like that Queenscove fool, thinking they could go around and do whatever they wished without consequence anyways. Man was probably lying anyways- he remembered reports of the Immortals War listing all the knighted sons of Duke Baird among the dead, it had been considered one of the many heavy tragedies of that battle.

Now this meddlesome imposter had cast some sort of spell on him. Or at least that is what he wanted Alvik to believe.

But the spell hadn't hurt at all, and he wasn't as stupid as the nobles seemed to think. It was just a piece of trickery designed to scare him with dire warnings and flashing lights, a mere parlor trick. It might have worked on some, but Alvik knew more about the ways of the world than most.

He supposed in the end it had been a rather good day. No one had been on hand to witness his defeat by the Lady Knight, and he had gotten rid of that lousy ungrateful lout of a servant who spent all day with his head full of horses and never got any work done. That was one less beating for him to give out.

He couldn't help but grin; the boy and the lady truly deserved one another. Whether she ended up keeping him to let him leech of her as he had everyone in town, or whether the boy found himself deserted on some lonely Northern road, he was quite sure that neither would bother him again. It was a good feeling.

Between the incidents with the Mindelan girl and the healer, quite a bit of time had passed since he had first left the inn. Certainly it had been enough time for his wife to catch the eye of a flirtatious Ownsman, and she certainly didn't seem to mind the attention.

He caught her arm as she walked behind the bar, gripping it hard enough to bruise as he pulled her into a dark corner to teach her a lesson in being faithful. He didn't feel the bruises appear on his arm in his anger, but he felt the tearing pain that brought tears to his eyes just as his fist fell.

Furious, he rained down blows despite the pain, his wife taking it without complaint as she always did, knowing that it would last longer if she cried out. At the first available opening she fled to the relative safety of the open room; he was not fool enough to pick a fight in front of a room full of knights.

Alvrik sunk down to his knees, resting his head against the cool stone of the wall. As he lay there motionless, covered in bruises of his own making, he thought he was going to die. It was like he had devils within him, punishing his every sin.

Nearly an hour passed before he found the strength to struggle to his feet. Limping off to his bed, he passed a giant of a man with curly black hair who called out from the midst of his circle of companions, "Nasty bruises those sir. Might want to get them checked out by a healer."

Alvik at least had the shame to duck his head as the group of soldiers passed. He would curse that Queenscove healer to the end of his days, but he would never lay his hands on another again. He was simply too afraid.


	9. Time

**9. Time**

Alanna cursed as a drop of rain slid off the brim of her hat and trickled down her back, sending shivers up her spine. Scowling, she glared at the rain clouds above them as if she wished to curse them into oblivion, her concentration strong enough that Baird, who was riding near to her, began to wonder if she was actually able to control the weather with her mind. After all she had done, it really didn't seem that farfetched.

She let out a fresh string of curses as the road wound out of the small grove which had provided scant cover for most of the morning into an exposed valley. As she glanced longingly at the trees along the side of the road, waging an internal debate over the relative merits of being muddy or drenched, she saw a small shadow flicker across her vision.

An enemy scout this far south? She was about to raise the alarm when she noticed the direction of Neal's gaze; he had seen it to then, and was alerting Kel. She knew her ex-squire well enough to realize he would never willingly let his friend ride alone into a dangerous or unknown situation, but it was still puzzling.

Straining to see through the driving rain, she could just make out two figures standing together in the undergrowth, Kel holding her cloak out to shelter the child- it had to be a young child, but in the middle of an army?- from the damp.

"Her newest charge." A voice she would recognize anywhere range out behind her, the most obnoxious, infuriating mix of courtier's drawl and scholar's lecture.

She had missed her sarcastic squire and his ill-timed, irreverent remarks over the last few months, but no threat of torture or death would get her to admit it. Still, she found herself riding near him more often than not, as the days spent listening to the rambling commentary he provided, seemingly for his own amusement entirely, always seemed to pass the fastest.

Glancing back at Kel, Alanna realized she was now riding with the boy wrapped under her cloak. He must have covered her in mud, but she didn't even seem to notice.

Neal was off on one of his rants again; she should have known better than to let him get started.

"And she'll clothe him and feed him and take him in like he was Jump, or a sparrow, but what is she going to do when we get to camp, the Stump'll murder her for it, and the conservatives will be all over her, saying he's her bastard son or her young lover or all manner of things, and she'll just put on her mask and ignore it like she always does but one would think she would try not to encourage it at least, the rumors about her and the entire Third Company of the Own are just starting to die down, that girl thinks she can save the world and now there's going to be…"

"She'll make a great mother some day." Neal spluttered, turned red, and made a strange squawking sound before turning to glare in amazement at his former knight-mistress, his monologue effectively interrupted.

Alanna had always found the inability of men to think of her simultaneously as a warrior and a woman intriguing; even the best ones, those who felt that women could fight alongside men as equals, often began to look at her as so much as an equal that they forgot she was different in the first place. It seemed that Kel experienced the same problem; Neal was clearly startled by the idea of Kel as a mother.

They rode in a rare contemplative silence for a few moments before Neal turned to meet her violet eyes and said softly, "Yes, she will."

He kicked Mage Whisper into a trot, riding ahead to join Kel and Roald.

Duke Baird moved forward to take Neal's place at her side, the pensive expression he wore a mirror to that of his son. When Baird turned to her and asked softly, "Isn't it strange to realize that they've gone and grown up when you weren't looking?", Alanna's thoughts drifted back to her own twins at the Swoop.

The war loomed before her, with no end in sight, but she knew that nothing could last forever. She would take some time off when this was over, get to know her children at last before it was too late and they were heading off to war themselves.

Maybe it was already too late. Alan was a page now, and she could feel Aly slipping further away from her every time they spoke.

Turning back to face the weary chief healer, who seemed to have all the cares of the world written in his tired eyes, she simply nodded in agreement. Where had the time gone?


	10. Cost

**I'm working my way through Cleon's visit and Wyldon's interviews, but I thought I would give a brief glimpse back at the lives of those left behind in the meantime. I found it very interesting to look at some of the more peripheral characters, so if you have a suggestion for a lesser-known person you've been wanting to see written about, send me a message and I'll see what I can do. Also, I'm sorry for the major eye strain of the last few chapters. I tried to space these out better, hopefully that helped a bit. I apologize in advance for the confusion with italics- in some places they mean thoughts, in others a flashback. If you know a better way to differentiate, please share. Thanks!

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**10. Cost**

The mug of tea waiting on her husband's desk had long grown cold and the calls of the night watchmen could be heard through her open window, but still Ilane waited.

_What use was a diplomat to a war council anyway? Piers was a brilliant negotiator, but even she could see that the time for negotiations was long past. They were at war now; why was her husband still being summoned to ceaseless meetings? Ilane knew she should feel honored to see his advice placed in such high esteem. The best minds of the court were gathered, and he had been included among Sir Myles, Lord Gareth, all the King's most trusted advisors._

_They had given up on trying to avoid the war; it was inevitable. Now they looked for ways to keep the Tortallan losses to a minimum. It was a necessary topic of discussion, of course, one that could quite possibly save the lives of her family and their fellow soldiers in the near future. But at that moment, Ilane couldn't help but feel that however much Tortall needed Piers, she needed him more. She needed him to hold her and tell her that they would make it through this._

The baroness looked out into the clear night, wondering if any of her children were doing the same. It was almost two weeks to the day since they had ridden north. Ilane was concerned for all of them, Inness, Conal, and Keladry, not to mention the husband and fiancé of her older daughters; but she knew it was Kel who gave her the most sleepless nights.

_She had always worried about her youngest daughter, forced to grow up among foreign faces and strange customs. Watching Kel struggle to learn to control her emotions, Ilane had been proud of her girl, proud of the way she accepted what was thrown at her and attacked it with a determination that left even the Yamanis speechless. Not that they usually had much to say. It wasn't until they had returned from the Islands that Ilane had realized the price of acceptance; Kel had become so adept at hiding her emotions that no one, not even her own mother, could tell what she was thinking._

_When she had come to say her goodbye, Kel's eyes had betrayed none of the tumult of emotions her mother was sure lay in wait just beneath the surface. How quickly she had grown from the stubborn child with an impossible dream to the confident and resolved young woman who didn't allow herself to glance back as she walked out of the room, ready to find her place in the world._

_Kel was so like Anders. They had the same fierce belief in what it meant to be a knight of the realm and the same fierce determination to do right by their men, their country, and themselves. It had surprised her at first, that of all her children it would be the youngest and the oldest who would share a special bond._

_Usually it gave her comfort, knowing that her two most reserved had someone to trust with their true feelings. At this moment, though, it terrified her. Anders had barely survived the Immortals War. Not because he had been too weak, but because he had been too noble. The letter from his commanding officer had called Anders a hero of the highest order; the man said he had never seen a soldier take on that many spidren alone before. And the little girl had survived._

_Ilane knew her son had not considered himself a hero as he fought his way through the crowd of immortals. He probably hadn't even realized there was a choice. A knight protected the weak, and Anders was a knight. No one knew why he hadn't died that day, except maybe the gods. There were scars to show for it, sure, but they were the good kind of scars. Or at least that was what she told him._

_Now Kel was riding off to battle, the one who had always been so similar to him, the one who would make the same choice as her brother. Or rather, wouldn't even need to choose, just like Anders. Maybe her baby wouldn't be so lucky. Maybe she would die a noble death on some unknown battlefield. Knowing that she would not hesitate- that was the most frightening._

She felt soft hands on her back, massaging her tense shoulders. She hadn't even heard him enter the room. Piers didn't seem surprised to see his wife still awake at such a late hour. He matched her gaze with his own; together the two weary parents stared out into the impenetrable darkness of the night and prayed for the lives of their children. A soft breath tickled her ear without breaking the silent spell that had fallen over them.

"Everything is going to be okay."

Across the courtyard, Ilane noticed a candle burning. So they were not the only ones keeping a vigil tonight. Realizing whose window blazed bright against the shadows, she had to believe that Piers was right. At least she had her husband here with her, to share in any burden they might be asked to bear in the coming days.

_It was easy to dwell on the what-ifs of war; it was easy to forget all the good that still remained. But they couldn't forget; life had to go on. Otherwise, the soldiers would be fighting an empty battle, and their deaths would be for nothing._

Ilane reached for her husband's hand, leading him quietly to their bed. Tomorrow she would invite the Duchess of Queenscove to tea. It was no time for anyone to be alone, especially the ones who had been left behind. Everything was going to be okay.


	11. Backward

**11. Backward**

Evin felt as if he was riding backward. Not backward on his pony, though he had done that in the past to make Miri laugh; backward against his heart, against his instincts. Every sense he had screamed that he was riding the wrong way. He had purposely skirted the larger army as they headed North, taking advantage of his squad's more nimble ponies to trek cross-country and avoid the crowds.

The men and women in his squad had seen the advantage of staying off the road, even if they couldn't help but complain about slogging through an endless sea of mud. They thought it was a tactical move, an effort to make it back more quickly. After all, Buri's message had specifically stated that she expected them back by the end of the week, she knew how long it took to get from the border to Corus, and she would have Raoul send a few squads of Ownsmen to personally escort his group back to the Palace if they even thought about orders. Only Evin knew the true reason for the order- if he had seen the others, traveling in the opposite direction, towards war, the threats would have mattered little. He wouldn't have come home.

It would be nice to be back at the Palace, to sleep in a real bed for once; he couldn't deny that. After more than a year at the border, he knew that they all needed some time off where they wouldn't have to be constantly on the watch for enemy scouts and camouflaged archers. But now they were at war; he knew that there would be no peace in returning home, not when so many others were out fighting for their lives. He always felt more comfortable when he could keep an eye out for his friends; there would be no one to tease the grief from Miri's eyes in the mess or to keep Daine from taking on half of Scanra single-handed. The only people he would be looking after were the new trainees, sure to be a thankless job. If things had been different, he might have laughed, thinking of the look of Miri's face as she pointed out that Evin Larse, the perpetual Player, had finally become responsible; but things weren't different, and thinking hurt too much.

Not that he hadn't known this was coming. Buri had been blunt; she was blunt with everyone. It had been in the stables. His group had returned from a particularly bloody encounter with a rogue band of centaurs; Evin had lost two men and wasn't in the mood for talking. Scanra was still a distant threat; the name Maggur was still unknown to him.

"_I'm going to make you an offer, but I don't want an answer now. Take some time to consider."_

_He had wondered where they were going to be sent now. Somewhere dangerous, certainly. It wasn't often that Buri made assignments optional._

"_I want you to be my Assistant Commander."_

_Whatever he was expecting, it had not been that. With the amount of pranks he pulled, Buri finally deciding to teach him a lesson and taking his squad away would have made more sense then her offering a promotion. Only his skill for field command had allowed him to keep Group Leader status this long; anyone else would have been sent packing long ago. But Evin couldn't help pushing the rules; it was in his nature. Secretly he thought that Buri understood, and that was why she seemed to turn a blind eye to all but the most blatant acts of mischief._

"_You're a brilliant leader Evin. The others follow your example, even if at times I wish they wouldn't. But I'm not sure that you can do this. The choices you are forced to make- it's harder than anything you've ever done, harder then losing men even. During a battle, you know that you've done everything you can. Some things are just out of your control, but that's the will of the gods for you. But having to tell others to fight in your place, sending out soldiers you've known since training camp and knowing the odds against them, that's command. And it's damn near the hardest thing you'll ever have to do, don't let anyone tell you different. So, no, I'm not sure if you can handle it. But gods knows you have a better chance than anyone else. So I'd like to give you a chance, if you wish to take it. I'll hear your answer at the end of the week."_

So he couldn't say that he hadn't been warned. In accepting the position, he had accepted the hard choices that came with it. And training the new recruits was especially important now, when requests for replacements were sure to be flooding in within the month. Those who made it through summer camp would be sent to fight, and there was only a few months to prepare. Buri was right to ask for help; he knew how she hated sending rookies into the field unprepared, their untimely deaths made all the harder by the hidden guilt that there was not more time. And Evin remembered what it was like to be thrown into battle before you were ready; it was those few months of training alone that had gotten him through the Immortals War. Yet for the first time, the first sweeping view of Corus as they rode across the rocky bluffs above the city brought him no joy. Without his friends, it barely felt like home.

As he approached the crowd of trainees, all he could think was that they looked so young. Most sported various bruises- less than a month into training, very few had mastered the art of staying on the back of the testy Rider ponies. The first day seemed one of the longest in his life, spent chasing down runaway mounts and dodging off-target arrows, but he honestly didn't mind. It kept his mind from wandering. But that night he drifted off into a tossing, troubled sleep with ghosts of Scanrans before his eyes and the whisper of a lost friend's name on his lips.


	12. Chess

**12. Chess**

There was a soft knocking on the door to his chambers. Myles looked up from the intricate map spread across his lap, covered in circles and arrows of various colors. _Not another war council- the last meeting had just finished barely two bells prior, and they were no closer to a solution than they had been months ago_. George had assigned all his best men to glean whatever information was to be had, but they were still coming up empty. As he started to rise from his seat by the fire, ignoring the protests of his stiff joints, the door slid open to reveal not a royal messenger but a young page.

"Don't get up Grandfather, I was just hoping to talk to you for a moment." Alan was at his side before he could protest, grabbing his arm and easing him back into the chair.

"Is there any news?"

He wondered what Alan really wanted to ask. They both knew that with the passes still snowed in from the winter, it could be weeks before the first solid reports from the border began arriving. And his grandson would have been one of the first to know- after the King of course- if anything had been heard, however small; it was one of the advantages of having a grandfather who was the realm's chief Spymaster.

Indicating that Alan should sit, he drew up the small table that had stood by the side of his chair until it was positioned between them. On it was a small carved chess set, over which generations of knights received advice or a kind word or good conversation. Pouring himself another mug of tea, Myles offered his grandson a drink and settled himself for a long evening. The boy was a stubborn, and though he clearly had something on his mind, he did not seem eager to address it. Myles was willing to wait.

_Alan had always been his favorite, if he was allowed to have a favorite grandchild. It probably should have been Aly; she was the born spy, charismatic and witty, the perpetual center of attention. And more like her mother than either would care to admit, though her interests clearly lay in her father's work. She was her father's darling, just as Thom had always been the closest to his mother. Alanna took extra care with Thom, fearing that her eldest son would follow his namesake down the lonely path to ultimate power and untimely death. So she made sure to let him know he was loved, and that he would never be alone. But mostly, she made sure to watch him carefully._

_The boy across from him, sitting in silent contemplation as he considered his next move, had always been the odd one out. Quieter and less ambitious, he often seemed to be forgotten when surrounded by his more outspoken siblings. Alan had surprised everyone when he had decided to by a knight at 13; no one had seemed to notice that it had been his dream all along, but had needed the extra three years to find the courage to step out of his sister's shadow. Seeing him find the strength to follow his own path had been one of his grandfather's proudest moments._

_The last few months must have been hard for the young lad, what with his mother headed north, his father riding from one end of Tortall to the other in search of any small hint as to the Scanran's plans, and his sister flitting about the court catching all the boys' eyes in an effort to prove that she didn't miss him. Aly had taken her twin's decision to start page training hard; up until last fall they had been virtually inseparable. Now they threw themselves into separate pursuits, Alan his studies and Aly her mischief, afraid to admit how much they missed one another. It hurt him to see the two so at odds with one another, but he knew that it was something that only they could work out. All wounds healed with time, and they loved one another too much to fight for long. Or so he hoped._

"I don't want to go to war. All the other pages, they can't wait to be squires, so they can go fight like their fathers or brothers or uncles. They can't wait to be heroes. But I don't want to go to war, and I don't want to have to be a hero."

Though softly spoken, the words carried easily across the small table, seeming all the more sudden after the stretch of silent contemplation. About to reassure the young boy that no one would expect the pages to fight at the border, Myles caught the shame in his eyes and realized that this was something deeper than a child's fear. After a moment of thought, he picked up a wooden pawn from the game before them and faced his grandson for what could quite possibly be the most important discussion they would ever have.

"No one should want to go to war. To watch the men around you fall as you struggle to end a life before another can end your own- only the extremely ignorant or the extremely cruel could actually desire that. Many of the pages have seen the effects of warfare, but perhaps you've seen more than most, having to watch your mother ride off into the distance time and time again. It's natural to be afraid of death, especially when you're young. But I believe that when the time comes, you will find the courage to do what is asked." He truly believed it; Alan had a hidden strength, not that of his father or his mother, but something that was uniquely his own.

"As for being a hero, well, I'm going to tell you a secret. I never wanted to be a hero either. And I haven't been. I let the other knights ride out to slay immortals, safe behind my desk. But in the end, that's what the realm needs. It's like a chess board; all the different pieces have to play a part. The pawns may not move as far, but the game can't be won without them. If all the world was heroes like your mother, everyone would be gone adventuring and there would be nobody left to plow or farm or govern the country. Not to mention that there wouldn't be anyone left to need rescuing. Your role may be different than your parent's, but that's nothing to be ashamed of. And I know you well enough to say with confidence that you will find your place, even if it seems impossible now. Because not every soldier can become a legend, and not every person can have their name remembered forever; sometimes just being remembered by those who love you the most is enough."

Alan simply thanked him and turned his attention back to their game, his expression unreadable. But he seemed more calm and contemplative even than normal, so Myles could only hope that the words had rang true.

_He had seen so many young knights ride proudly into battle. He had seen those same knights return, bandaged and bruised, and watched them get slowly get better, knowing that the deeper wounds were those beneath the surface, the ones that no healer could help. And he had known that he couldn't weep for them, because they were in fact the lucky ones. The ones who had made it home. It was in the cost of war that his life had been measured, and he cursed the gods that he had lived to see another fought. As he pictured the soldiers at the border, ready to fight and die because someone had told them it was their duty to their country, Myles couldn't help but think that maybe Alan was the smartest of them all._


	13. Flood

**I am so sorry for the huge delay in posting these. I decided to post one at a time for a bit, to get them up quicker, but I have a few more nearly ready so I should be updating every day or so for a little while. Hopefully it will make up in part for the long wait. As always, if you have a scene you'd like to see (around this period in LK, since I'm following the timeline of the book) feel free to send me a suggestion. Thanks!

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**13. Flood**

Theirs was a relationship built on everything that wasn't, swift and changing as the tides. He wasn't supposed to fall in love, not with the knowledge that he was as good as betrothed. She wasn't supposed to be there, a young woman at a war camp, certainly not with shield and sword and battle axe. It wasn't supposed to have ever started, wasn't supposed to end like this.

Some small corner of his mind had always known that this was an impossible dream, spinning castles out of clouds. They had talked of marriage, yes, but in the future, and at a time when they had both known how fragile the future could be. Now that the clouds had become thunderheads and the weight of the world was raining down upon him, he couldn't say he hadn't seen it coming. They both had. Perhaps that was part of the appeal; it gave them a safety net, an easy out, and she had needed that. He knew how hard it had been for her, to let herself need someone else.

It didn't make what they had any less real. And it didn't make the dream any less beautiful, even now that it was gone.

He thought he loved her, more than he thought he had loved anyone else before. It was something he would always regret, never having a chance to know for sure, however difficult their path may have been. The moments they had missed- his catching her in his arms as she walked across that iron threshold, for once too tired and relieved to worry about their rules; the sweetness of finding one another in the calm after battle, comparing wounds and feeling the safety of one another's arms. Because what their future might have held, he couldn't begin to guess; but they should have been the ones to decide, together.

The suddenness of it, of all of this mess crashing down upon him at once, that was the hardest to deal with. Returning home, running the fief, taking his father's place- he knew it would happen, yes, but not now. Now that he had finally earned his shield. Now that they were at war. But now was here, and he didn't know what to do. If only his father were still alive, to give him advice. He wasn't ready.

Times like these, when he felt lost upon the current, tugged every which way until up and down, left and right began to blend into an endless flow of forever, were when he needed Kel the most. Because they had been friends first, and she had that gift for making the world stop spinning, making him feel as if he could handle anything. When she had told him he might find happiness in his marriage- that was the first time he had really believed it. And their friendship, it would survive this; it had to. However much time it took, they would find one another again. Because he needed her encouragement to make it through each day, each battle, each war, just like Neal and Roald, Merric and Owen, all of them. They relied on her strength.

The early morning dawn cast a dim light on the path he was to follow, as the skies opened above him and the storm broke overhead. He could handle rain. But this was a flood, and he was drowning.


	14. Comfort

**14. Comfort**

He was an idiot. A complete and utter fool. Of course he had been told so often enough- it was his knight-mistress's favorite way to entertain herself on long rides, repeating all of his most glaring acts of stupidity softly to herself. And Wyldon had expressed the same sentiment throughout his page years, if not in words than in impossible amounts of punishment duty. If the timing had been different, he might even have been proud of himself for finally getting those two to agree on something, by no means a small feat. But tonight was for damage control, and he had more important things to worry about.

Like how he had managed to completely misinterpret his best friend's feelings. They had grown apart a bit over the last four years, an inevitable consequence of riding with knights who seemed to think no corner of Tortall too obscure to lend a hand. But still, this was Kel, the reason he had made it through page training, his fiercest ally in the struggle to survive four years as the Lioness's squire. He thought he knew her better; he should have been able to see that what she had with Cleon was more than just passing time.

It had been like this from the start. Roald had been the first to realize what was developing between his two friends during the Progress, the only one really; the rest of them had remained completely oblivious. Because Cleon, the clown, always trying for a laugh with those flowery nicknames of his, and Kel, who had made no secret of her hatred for being referred to as a buttercup or a pearl like she was the pride of the convent, really together? It had to be a joke, nothing serious, an attempt to show that she could keep up with the boys in every area. Alanna had certainly done as much at that age; it was one of the curses he had discovered while riding with her of never being able to hold his tongue, that he often got more truth, and details, than he would have ever wished for.

But then he had watched them tonight, illuminated by the flashes of lightning that rent the sky; so caught up in one another that they barely noticed the wind-splashed droplets showering their faces, taking the place of tears that neither would allow themselves to cry. They were too strong, both wishing to protect the other, to keep the one they loved from seeing the hidden depths of hurt that would haunt them over the cool, lonely nights to come. And he had known, at that instant, that it was more than convenience, more than simple fun; it was love, and it was impossible. It took all they had, just to say goodbye. Then Cleon was gone, and Kel was alone once more, shivering as she watched the rain fall on the ruins of her dreams.

He ached to comfort her, to let her know everything was going to be all right. How many nights had she spent, listening to his heartbroken rants about jaded love, always knowing exactly the right comments to make in that simple, direct way of hers until he was laughing so hard his tears left blotted stains on the pages of worthless poetry? Now he had repayed her by talking incessantly of his own betrothed, never stopping to consider the pain she might be in. She had mentioned it in passing, that she wasn't even sure Cleon knew if she had survived her Ordeal. At least he knew that Yuki was safe in Corus, while his two friends had fallen asleep each night knowing the other could be lying cold on some battlefield, with the king's orders and a foreign army between them.

The crying was so soft that he barely even heard it, would never have noticed if he hadn't paused for a moment beside her door, wondering if sleep had yet come to drown her sorrows. He couldn't remember the last time she had cried, not through all the fights and cruel taunts, not when Wyldon put her fears on display for their amusement, time and time again. Now he was just standing there as the toughest person he had ever known broke down, but he wouldn't lie to her, couldn't; everything would not be all right, and only time could help her now, time that was a stronger healer than he would ever be. It near broke his heart, that she thought she had to wait until she was alone until she let her guard down, as if they would ever think her fragile or weak for showing her true emotions. And that he could do nothing more for her than stand beside the door as the sobs grew fainter still and she was blessed with sleep at last.

Walking quietly to his own room, he prayed that the night might bring her a bit of the peace she so deserved.

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**Look out for one more update later tonight. Thanks for reading!**


	15. Periphery

**15. Periphery**

This was his chance; at least that was what Faleron kept telling himself. Still, he couldn't shake that feeling that he was being left behind, cast off to the side as the others, his friends, rode to fame and glory. It was strange, but for some reason he had never doubted that the war would make them heroes; in his mind, they already were.

He had tried to explain the feeling to his friends, but it was not something easily expressed. Neal said that he was being stupid, acting as if he had been given the easy assignment; no one in their right mind would try to keep Alanna away from the heavy fighting, so the fact that he was following her to the coast was evidence enough that Faleron would see more than his share of action. Roald had raised a comforting hand to rest lightly on his shoulder, saying more with his famous blue gaze then he could express in words. Merric had just laughed.

They were all sitting together in the common room of Wolfwood's largest inn, the same study group they had formed as pages, trying to ignore the fact that Kel and Cleon were standing outside in the light rain and talking in the type of muffled voices usually reserved for funerals and temples. Neal was happy to serve as a distraction, drawling on endlessly as if they weren't a bowshot away from the war zone. It was only by the quick thinking of Seaver, who took pity on the rest of the table's occupants and dragged Neal away to play a hand of cards, that they were saved from sitting through a full University debate on the relative merit of different assignments.

Kel, upon her return, had reminded them that the Scanrans would make sure everyone saw their fair share of fighting and more. Her voice was soft and her eyes hundreds of miles away, unfathomable. Those who heard her words shifted uncomfortably in their seats, feeling the truth they contained. Kel alone among them had spent time on the northern border, and it was clear that she had already seen too much; Faleron lived in fear of the day when he would understand the shadow which had taken her away from them in that moment. It was the last thing she needed right now, the memories of more pain, and he would have liked to apologize to her for dredging them up if he could only have found the proper words.

But for all their speeches and reassurance, Faleron knew the truth. He should be going with them. He should be there to warn Merric of the enemy soldiers descending on him from behind, to tie Neal to his horse when he refused to leave the field until every injury had been attended. To take an arrow for Roald, if it came to that. Instead, he was being pushed aside once more, confined to the periphery of the world. Maybe it was because everyone around him seemed to shine so brightly, that he always felt left in the dark. Like a moth to the flame, he hovered around greatness, but he could never be at the center, drawing others in. And it had always been like that, since they were pages; he had always been the odd one out, second-best, neither older nor younger and left without a close confidant among his year-mates.

In his room alone that night, as he blew out the single candle and let the darkness swallow him, Faleron finally admitted to himself something he had known for a long time. Some people were just not cut out to be heroes. Not everyone had the strength to look the kraken in the face and go on living. His friends- they were tough, they would be all right. But as for him, well, he would fight like hell. His hands would spill the blood of enemies and be stained by the blood of friends. And despite all that, he would not survive this war.

~*~

They had all been there to send him off, sharing an early breakfast. All his friends- even Neal, who had made such a point over the last few weeks of sleeping late every morning, knowing it might be his last chance; even Kel, still reeling from Cleon's recent departure (not that you could tell from her carefully-assembled face or forced cheerful comments). They smiled and laughed and reminisced together. He had purposely sat with his back to the window, so he didn't have to watch as the Lioness began to assemble the troops she would lead to the coast. For that one meal, he was able to pretend that they were pages again, joking in mess. Then the trumpets sounded, and he had risen wearily to his feet, slinging his last saddlebag over his shoulder. Orders were orders, and it was time to go.

The sun was just clearing the horizon as they started westward, bringing tears to his eyes as he glanced back one final time. Each shape was a dark silhouette, the mass of well-wishers behind them like an army of shadows in the harsh dawn light. He thought he recognized Neal, Kel, and Roald among the ghostly ranks, standing together and raising their hands in a salute, wishing him luck in the battles ahead.

Faleron hadn't known it then, but it was the last time he would ever see them.

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**Sorry I've been MIA for so long, but I'm back on track with this story and should have updates every day or two for the rest of the week. This is my least favorite scene I've done so far (Faleron's voice was very hard for me to write for some reason), but I wanted to post *something* at least. I would love suggestions for improvement, since I'd like to go back and redo some of this when I get a chance. Thanks!**


	16. Blessed

**16. Blessed**

Owen wasn't made for waiting. That past January had been the longest month of his life, as the enemy danced around them and images of death haunted his dreams.

He had been there, the morning that the sun had risen on Joren's corpse; the first rays of dawn had reflected off the iron threshold until it seemed as if the pale form was being engulfed by golden flames. It was a sight he would never forget.

Now it hovered just on the edge of his consciousness, that same burning body, but each night a different face- Neal or Seaver or Merric or Kel, white as death and the robes in which they were clad. Always they were just inside the polished doors, tauntingly close but hopelessly far away, as if the Chamber wasn't quite ready to give up its prize.

They were not Joren. Joren was cold and hard, all cracks and fault lines. Like an old warped pane of glass, he shattered under pressure into a million crystal shards of what could have been. No, they were a different type of hard, the type that was strong enough to survive. He had known that, believed it with all his heart, but still the visions had claimed him.

By the end of the month he was finally at the breaking point, isolated and alone even among the flurry of activity around camp. The vast silent wilderness of the northern woods held nothing but ghostly fears. Then the letter came.

There were a few times, single moments of his life, that were burned so indelibly into his mind that he need only close his eyes to bring back all the emotion. The day the bandits had come, and he had watched his mother die in his arms. When he had stayed to fight with Kel and vowed never to run from a losing battle; or when Margarry had first taught him what it really meant to love so strong you lost yourself in another person. And, most recently, the day that the courier finally arrived and he discovered more about his knightmaster in thirty seconds of silence than he ever had in nearly three years of lessons.

The winter roads were nearly impassable this far north, frozen expanses of churned mud that could ruin a good mount in the blink of an eye. Almost a month had passed before the awaited batch of letters and delayed Midwinter gifts arrived at the newly-fortified Giantkiller.

For the first few moments, Owen was completely absorbed in his task of carefully thawing the ice-covered envelope reluctantly handed him by his knightmaster. The bold, lightly slanting writing which spelled out his name was near enough to stop his heart; he would know that hand anywhere, confident and unique and feminine but not girly, just like her. It was all he could do to keep from tearing into the fragile missive straight away, but he forced himself not to risk obscuring a single word- each stroke of the pen was another thought that wasn't war or death, and the love that was their sum would be just enough to keep him holding on. She was worth the wait.

Then he froze, the halfway-opened letter falling from his chapped hands in surprise; it fluttered down to rest on the ice-crusted grass.

His Lord wasn't afraid of anything. That was one of the constants of life, unchallengeable as the idea that etiquette class was mind-numbingly boring or that the morning always came much too early.

That was why the look on Lord Wyldon's face as he read the contents of his own frozen letter had come as such a shock to his unprepared squire. There was only one word to describe it- relief.

"They all made it." Wyldon's voice was soft, weighed down by the strength of his emotions, as he handed Owen the single sheet that had made such an impact. Owen had been expecting something longer; to call the contents of the page even a paragraph may still have been wishful thinking.

"But it's so short."

"Lord Sir Raoul is not in the habit of using ten words when one will do. An admirable trait, that you would be wise to consider adopting in your own affairs. That is, of course, if you believe the effort of resisting the urge to share every thought or opinion entering your head at a given moment will not itself kill you. I have my doubts."

Owen knew his face was an open book, inviting all the world to read the tumultuous array of thoughts flitting across its frank form. Wyldon knew as well, enough not to tell his squire what he didn't want known instantly and to prevent the boy from playing at cards. It was no surprise to either, then, when Owen's face instantly registered his confusion at hearing his knightmaster praise the notoriously progressive Knight Commander, one of the Lioness's closest confidants.

"We have had our differences in the past, and are unlikely to ever fully see eye-to-eye. But I respect the man as a soldier and a tireless defender of the Crown. I admire the organization and yes, even the innovation that he has brought to the Own. This may surprise you, Squire Owen, but I am not opposed to change, simply because it is change. The world must never stand still. And it may take longer with myself than most, since I hold tradition sacred in a way that is becoming increasingly rare under our present monarchs, but I am not unwilling to be taught."

There was something in the way the fierce brown eyes held his gaze throughout the small speech that let Owen know this was no idle conversation. It was clear that Wyldon was asking for understanding; maybe even forgiveness, though his pride would only allow so much. Could it be that he was apologizing for the choice he made eight years ago, the one that Owen had never been able to overlook?

Wyldon suddenly dropped his gaze, turning crisply on his heel and heading back towards headquarters. Looking back over his shoulder without breaking stride, he raised a hand to indicate the letter, still unread and slightly rumpled now from being tightly grasped in Owen's sweaty palms.

"Read it. Mithros grant that it may it ease your mind and your fears as it has eased mine. If there is one thing that Raoul understands, it's that the anticipation of disaster is always worse than the knowledge."

Then he was gone, before the "So mote it be" had even died from his squire's lips. Owen perused the words eagerly, anxious for anything that would help him understand what fears could have merited such a look of relief as had just crossed his Lord's scarred features.

_To Lord Wyldon of Cavall, District Commander, Giantkiller Fortress:_

_All of the squires have passed their Ordeals without incident. Kel was the last to be tested, and will be knighted at sunset. May the gods grant you peace and grace those who protect our borders. We will head northward with the new knights and additional men as soon as the roads are passable._

_Gods bless,_

_Raoul_

Owen released a breath he hadn't even known he was holding, feeling the terror that had weighed him down for so long suddenly lifted. They were all safe. Neal had made it, though he was the oldest person to enter the chamber in recent memory. Kel had made it, though she was the Girl. And he had not been the only one troubled by uncertainty- Lord Wyldon, too, had been haunted by visions of Joren's fate, perhaps even more so.

He shouldn't have been surprised. They had returned to Corus each year over Midwinter, and he had woken at dawn to sit with his knightmaster before the iron doors, waiting and praying. Wyldon had sat, pale and motionless, refusing to look away from the Chamber until he was certain that the page he had trained stumbled out, shaken but unharmed.

But that winter, when it had mattered most- to both of them, Owen realized for the first time- they had been far away, left in the dark. They were needed at the border, to assume command when Raoul and Kel headed south, scrambling to complete the fortifications before the snows descended.

No, he should not have been surprised, but he still didn't understand. Wyldon always worried, but this had been deeper than that; it was fear. And he could only think of one reason for the change- Kel. Wyldon had put her on probation, pushed her more than any of the boys. Five minutes ago, Owen would have said that Wyldon hated her, hated her for bringing change to his traditional world, for representing everything he most disliked about the future of the realm. But now Owen knew better.

That was what Wyldon had meant, then, about being willing to be taught. Kel had proved him wrong at every turn, each of her accomplishments another blow to the idea that women couldn't fight. And Wyldon, the Stump, so stiff and formal at times that he seemed barely alive, was not so stiff as to be able to ignore her lessons forever; he hadn't wanted her to be a page, and now he feared she wouldn't get the chance to be a knight. But she had, and there was no telling what the future might hold for the two people Owen admired most of all, as they slowly found the common ground bridging what had once seemed an impassable gulf between them. As proud as he was, Wyldon was even more honorable, honorable and uncompromising enough to admit that he had been wrong, even if he had yet to find the proper words to say it out loud.

Owen reached down to rescue Margarry's letter and set off for a quiet corner of the stables where he would be able to read in peace. As he went, he sent up a prayer to any gods who might have an ear for a young squire on the brink of war- that he might have Kel's fierce compassion and his Lord's stubborn courage to aid him in the trials to come.

Weeks passed in a blur of watches and skirmishes and anticipation, until at last the trumpet call sounded out the arrival of a large group of friends, large enough that it could only be the reinforcements from Corus. Owen looked up from the patrol map he had been examining, the joy which had lit up his eyes at the thought of seeing his friends again fading as suddenly as it had appeared. They were knights now, heading off to fight Scanrans; he was still a squire, running messages and doing the tasks too menial for even the greenest soldier. They were too good for him; maybe they had always been too good for him.

"Go greet them. It doesn't change anything." Wyldon's voice was crisp as always but his eyes didn't have the disinterested detachment that usually accompanied his orders. A transformation had taken place between them since the day the letter had come. Often lessons progressed as they always had, and Owen wondered if the difference he thought he saw was just a figment of his wishful imagination. Then moments like this occurred- surely Lord Wyldon had never been able to read his mind before. He had said as much, yesterday in mess, before he could remember to hold his tongue; Wyldon had simply looked him in the eye for the briefest of moments and said that Owen was finally growing up, before requesting that he please pass the salt and refrain from asking theoretical questions while their food was growing cold.

So now Owen stood in the open courtyard, waiting and wondering. It had been years since they had seen one another, years that had changed them all. Maybe there was too much distance now. He wouldn't even have come, had it not been his duty as a squire, had it not been for his fear of seeing disappointment replace the look of respect he won more and more often from his Lord. Wyldon had shown him that no divide was so wide that it couldn't be healed in time, so he was ready to fight for his friends, to reclaim slowly what most certainly had been lost. It wouldn't be easy, but he knew they were worth it. And he could only hope that they would eventually realize he might just be worth it as well.

But then they were in front of him and Wyldon was right, they were Kel and Neal and Seaver and Merric, and everything was forgotten. It didn't matter that they were huddled inside raw wooden gates that provided little shelter from the gusts of cold air which blew across the empty space, or that the enemy might pick any second to launch an attack. The last few years had been hard on them all, but their friendship had proved stronger than anything the world could throw at them. They were here, together, in this moment, and even as trumpet calls rent the air and sergeants barked out orders, Owen couldn't help but feel that he was blessed.


	17. Assignments

**Sorry it's been so long since I've updated this, but I promise that I'll be updating pretty regularly over the next few weeks. This is the first half of the interview scene from Wyldon's perspective, with him breaking the news of their assignments to Neal and Merric.

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**17. Assignments**

The cider was sweet against his tongue, the sharp spices clearing his head as he prepared for the next meeting. After hours of meetings he'd lost track of how many men remained to be seen, and it wasn't until Merric and Neal had already seated themselves in two of the sturdy wooden chairs that he realized the time had come. He silently cursed his own lack of attention- any dealing with Nealan required something significantly more bracing than cider, and this encounter was sure to be no exception.

"Please excuse me- I must pay a visit to my father, as I seem to be hearing things again. I could have sworn I just heard you say that I would be the chief healer at the refugee camp, but that can't possibly be right. Especially seeing as the chief healer is traditionally…well, a healer, and I, as you well know sir, am a knight, despite your many claims to the contrary." Neal was already out of his chair and halfway to the door by the time Merric had recovered enough to inquire who they would be reporting to, the words sounding strangely clipped and formal to his ears, muttered as they were through clenched teeth. He could tell that the young knight was trying to keep his famous temper in check, and just barely succeeding.

He had hoped that Merric at least would accept his position without complaint- patrol captain was a common assignment for a first-year knight with a head for command- but it was clear that the fiery redhead was worried about seeing his fair share of the fighting. The young men were always so eager for the dangerous assignments, wanting to be in the middle of the action at all times- he had just spent most of the previous meeting explaining to Seaver why he would be more helpful leading patrols with Roald at Northwatch than joining one of Raoul's scouting parties. The next few months would teach them that there were no safe assignments in a war, and he wondered if they'd be so eager to see battle this time next year. Or if they'd even be alive, young as they were, green as they were…

"Lady Knight Keladry". He said it without really thinking, desperate for a way out, a different line of thought to follow. Recently his dreams had been haunted by the images of the knights he had trained, lying motionless as the frozen ground under them ran red and the stormwings wheeled overhead. Had he forgotten to teach them something? Had he pushed them hard enough? This war would measure his successes, and his failures would be paid for in blood.

His words had certainly made an impact. Neal was frozen in the doorway, staring open-mouthed and wide-eyed; for once the boy appeared to have been rendered speechless. Merric seemed to have forgotten to breathe, his face progressing past the red of his hair to a sickly-looking purple color which made Wyldon wonder whether he should be alarmed- now was not the time to be losing good soldiers.

Then Neal came to his senses, grabbing Merric under the arms and half-dragging him from the room. Turning back, he was almost smiling as he said, "I'll leave you to let Kel know her assignment. I'm sure Alanna- and Raoul for that matter- will be quite interested to hear where you've placed- or should I say hidden- her." Then he left, clearly enjoying the thought of seeing his former knightmistress unleashing her famous temper on someone else for once, for all that she was halfway across the country defending the coast.


	18. Standoff

**I know that it has been forever, but here's the first half of Kel and Wyldon's conversation (LK pg. 63-65 in my copy). I hope to have the second half (LK pg. 66-67), still from inside Wyldon's head, done very soon. Then I'll move on to the visit with the refugees- it will either be in Wyldon's perspective or Fanche's. If you have an opinion on which one I do, let me know. Otherwise, thanks very much for reading and I'd love to hear your thoughts or comments. **

**Italic lines are dialogue directly from Lady Knight, property of Tamora Pierce.

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**18. Standoff**

As soon as she opened the door, Wyldon knew that he had made a mistake. There was that familiar set to her shoulders, the slight tilt of her chin that he recognized so well from her page days. He thought of it as her stubborn look- it was the one that she got when he asked her to climb a tree with all the other boys watching, or if he went down the line of drilling pages correcting everyone but her. Any time she felt that she wasn't being treated fairly, that he was treating her differently than the others somehow, she didn't complain or confront him; she just put on her stubborn look and tried to prove him wrong. He was finally willing to admit to himself that she had usually succeeded.

But she shouldn't be looking at him like that right now. Her eyes studied him intently, cataloguing the effects of time and long nights in the biting northern wind. They seemed to reserve judgment, giving nothing away, but he knew her well enough to see that she anticipated some injustice and was prepared to have to prove herself again. It was his fault, leaving her for last; it gave her too much time to think, to convince herself that he doubted her abilities or was trying to keep her safe or some similar nonsense. Keladry was a sensible girl, but she had formed her opinion of him and his prejudices during that first probationary year. Changing her mind would be a slow process. For now, she had every right to enter on her guard, from what she knew of his past actions.

This time, though, it wasn't about her or tradition or his feelings towards women warriors. The refugees, they were what mattered, and they needed Kel. Enough that he was willing to give a first-year knight command of one of their largest forts, despite numerous protests. Enough that he had blatantly ignored a strongly-worded request from the Knight Commander of the King's Own, who had wanted his former squire's sharp eyes to help lead patrols at Fort Steadfast. And even enough that he would let everyone think he was trying to keep her out of the fighting, however hard it was to watch the slow progress that they had made in the last few years slipping away. He didn't need Kel's acceptance, or her approval, or even her respect; he just needed her to follow orders and keep the civilians safe. And he knew that she would, however much she hated the assignment- it was that quality which made her such a perfect choice for the command.

It just would have been a hell of a lot easier to explain all this to her if she hadn't already been expecting the worst of him, before she had even received an order. There was no way she could have anticipated what was coming- he had purposely kept the news from Owen, knowing that Kel would be able to read everything in his honest face. No, she just assumed that he wasn't going to trust her with a real combat assignment, and what he was about to say would do nothing to change her mind.

"_Have a seat, lady knight. Wine? Or cider?" _He already knew that she preferred cider, a fact which was unsurprising after years of riding with Raoul. But it was polite to ask, and she might take offence at not being offered the same choice as the men. Already he had watched a small flicker of surprise dart across her face at the use of her new title, which had surprised him in turn. Did she really think so little of him as to expect that he would refuse to acknowledge her shield? Whatever anyone had said during her training, she had been found worthy by the Chamber and there could be no doubt that she had earned the name of lady knight. She would do her country and her training master proud. It was with that thought that he toasted her shield, and allowed himself a small smile when she returned the toast in honor of her instructors. How long would she be willing to give him her respect, however grudgingly?

It wouldn't do to keep putting this off. He was nervous, more nervous than he had any right to be. As much as he knew that this was the only choice, he had come to value Kel's good opinion of him and it was difficult to watch it destroyed once more. But it would only get worse the longer he kept her in suspense, and at the moment all he wanted was to be done with this meeting and alone with his thoughts. It had been a long night.

"_I won't dance about. I'm giving you the hardest assignment of any knight in this district. I think you will hate it, and perhaps me." _ She would hate it. She would hate him. He knew that, there was no question. But she could do it. And she would. That he knew as well, and it was that knowledge which gave him the strength to look her straight in the eyes as she lowered her cup and straightened up, squaring her shoulders and putting on her best stubborn face. The girl was a fighter; always had been, always would be. She was tough and determined and ready to prove the whole world wrong, sitting there in silence as he explained what General Vanget had asked of him, rattled off numbers and figures, unfolded maps.

"_Who's to command this place, sir?" _If he hadn't trained her, he wouldn't have even noticed the slight catch in her voice as she fought to keep her emotions in check. It wasn't the question that he'd expected, but then again, she always managed to surprise him.

He wanted to tell her that it was the one person that he trusted to treat all the refugees fairly, regardless of whether they were man or woman, rich or poor. The best young commander that he had ever trained, who would only get better as she gained experience and confidence in her ideas. Perhaps the best knight that he had ever trained, period.

But instead he simply said, _"You are."_ He watched her blink twice, looking across the table at him as if from underwater, the words muffled and jumbled as they crossed the narrow gap. Just a ripple on the smooth surface of her face, and then it was back, that tenacity that he had come to know so well.

Yes, she had always been a fighter. And she had one hell of a battle ahead of her, of that he was sure.


	19. Safety

**Here's the second half of Kel and Wyldon's conversation (LK pg. 66-67 in my copy) from Wyldon's POV. **

**Italic lines are dialogue directly from Lady Knight, property of Tamora Pierce.**

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**19. Safety**

_"He also trained me for battle."_

Her words were sharp, unexpected. Wyldon realized that he had grown to expect Kel's stoic acceptance of his decisions, fair or unfair; the stony-faced gaze that had gotten her through eight years of hell and hard work to stand before him now as a knight. It was easy to forget her inner passion, that she was as stubborn and insistent as Sir Nealan when it came to defending what she felt was right, that she had Prince Roald's belief in righting injustice and the same streak of idealism that he hadn't yet been able to beat out of his ever-optimistic squire. It seemed as if Kel was about to apologize, but she held her tongue; Wyldon knew it was because she meant her words, every one of them.

The words were strongly felt and it was Kel's fiery devotion to her cause that reassured Wyldon he had made the right decision. If he could only convince her to take the command, to give her word that she would protect the ragtag group of refugees and convict soldiers that would be her soldiers and her people. Once Kel made that promise, she would keep it. She would argue for more supplies with the same determined insistence that had her questioning his orders a moment before; she would settle disputes over sleeping arrangements and positions in the mess line with the same insistence on fairness and equal treatment that had her arguing for a more dangerous assignment. Lady Knight Keladry wasn't a fool; she knew the cost of war and the danger in what he was asking. But she also wanted the same chance to prove herself as the other young knights, even if it meant being left in an shallow unmarked grave or left to burn on a bloodstained frozen field. She was willing to fight him on this, despite her devotion to manners, her insistence on accepting what she was told to do without question or complaint. And it was that hidden fire which ensured that she wouldn't win this argument. Wyldon knew he was a talented commander; he knew that he had a gift, like Lord Raoul, or Commander Buri if he was forced to admit it, for seeing the hidden strengths in others and allowing them the proper opportunity to shine. And he knew that he had made the right decision, the only correct decision, in giving Kel this command. She could fight him all she wanted; but he was stubborn too, and his mind was made up.

Wyldon had been unconsciously rubbing his injured arm as these thoughts ran through his head—the angry raised scars that would forever mar his flesh always served to remind him of the cost of duty, the price of what he was asking Kel to give up in the service of a war she might or might not believe in, for people that she might or might not grow to care about. She had seen more war than your average squire, but she was still green, still unfamiliar with the true horror that he knew the summer would bring.

"_There is no safe zone within a hundred miles of the border. You'll see combat. I guarantee that," _he told her sternly. The words were meant as a warning but she seemed to take them as a compromise, a small concession thrown at her to keep her satisfied and safe.

She thought he was keeping her safe; that was the biggest mystery to Wyldon. If he had the power to keep anyone safe, there would be no knights at these crude Northern camps, fighting to preserve borders that had hardly even existed in the first place. There would be no war, no killing devices, no enemy mages. Every knight he trained would be in Corus, killing time and competing in silly tournaments, having feasts and attending balls and starting families. Each and every death forced him to look back over the years of his life, questioning every decision, every lesson; maybe if he had just taught his pages a little bit more, pushed them a little bit harder, they would still be alive. Every death felt like his fault, his responsibility; they had been his boys, his students, and even now, when they were no longer pages but grown men, he couldn't fully let them go. It was a heavy burden to carry, one that he knew would only get heavier as the summer progressed and the death tolls rose.

Kel said to him, _"I still feel like you're trying to keep me safe."_

Wyldon wished with all his heart that he could. That he could keep her safe, that he could keep them all safe. He wished that he could ask her to stay safe, to stay out of the war, not because she couldn't handle it—he had no doubt in her abilities anymore, not after she'd proved him wrong so many times—but because he couldn't; not another death, not Keladry.

He wanted to say, "Promise me, Lady Knight. Promise me you'll stay safe." Instead he just said, _"Come with me"_.


End file.
